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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768134">when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quake_quiver/pseuds/quake_quiver'>quake_quiver</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 7 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Gen, Gen or Slash, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Rescue, Sam Winchester Whump, Shippy Gen, Whump, Wincest if you squint, some pretty gnarly stuff but it's pretty vague, somewhere vaguely in season 2, tongue removal, yes you read that correctly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:28:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quake_quiver/pseuds/quake_quiver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night.<br/>And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger.<br/>Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 7 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester WHUMP, Ten Trails Whump Challenge 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for the Ten Trails Challenge! Today's prompt for Trail 7 was "Rescue."<br/>This contains some pretty hardcore whump. Everything is vague, but please mind the tags and look out for yourselves.<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Sam likes to think he’s good at keeping track of the time that passes. And up to a certain point, he is.</p><p class="p1">The last time he counted, he’d been here for a week. He’s hoping that means Dean’s coming, soon, because this situation is…less than pleasant. In multiple ways.</p><p class="p1">As Sam has always suspected—and now knows for sure—he’s something of an outlier among hunters. The boy with the demon blood. He’s got a dogged darkness following him around, and he knows there are other hunters that look down their noses at him for it.</p><p class="p1">Such as these three. Two men and a woman. If Sam had to guess, he’d say they’re around his dad’s age, if John had still been alive.</p><p class="p1">It’s still a tangled mess, how they actually got him. He and Dean met up with these hunters on a case. They talked through some leads, went to a diner, and discussed their findings over dinner. Well, as close to dinner as it is at three in the morning, with a single employee working as both chef and waitress.</p><p class="p1">Dean slipped away to use the bathroom. He was only gone for a minute or two, but in that time Sam started to feel weird. Really weird. He remembers being dimly aware that they drugged him just before they hauled him up, slipped through the door, and took him.</p><p class="p1">He spent the following truck ride with a handkerchief tied around his head as a blindfold, and the cold mouth of a pistol pressed to his temple. He was sick, dizzy, and disoriented, and he wanted Dean so badly it hurt.</p><p class="p1">He knows they’re good when more than a couple of days go by without Dean finding him. Sam spends those days shackled to what feels like a radiator, still blindfolded. The first few times he dares to mouth off, or can’t help making pained noises, rough hands press his palms to the coils of the radiator, keeping them there until they blister.</p><p class="p1">The hunters have been bleeding him. They want his blood—his <em>demon</em> blood—for something. Sam hasn’t pieced together what. But he really isn’t sure that these hunters really <em>are</em> hunters. They’re cruel, almost sadistic, and they spare Sam no pain.</p><p class="p1">He almost managed to escape two nights ago. The hunters generally spent the night in shifts, guarding the door and taunting Sam, poking and prodding him with taunts about his darkness, about Dean, about what they wanted to do to him. About what they’d already done to him.</p><p class="p1">But the woman had fallen asleep on watch, lulled by too much malt whiskey, and Sam had slowly but surely worked his way free from the radiator.</p><p class="p1">He made it outside, and onto the road, and had just managed to reach a phone and call Dean when they caught up with him. They were less than pleased.</p><p class="p1">Sam didn’t get any more sleep that night. The hunters moved him to a different location. They had more than one way to punish him for escaping, for crying for help, and they weren’t shy about it. Sam had never thought his mouth could hurt that bad, and he knows he won’t be able to walk straight for days afterward.</p><p class="p1">Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night.</p><p class="p1">And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger.</p><p class="p1">Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.</p><p class="p1">He isn’t here, but when things get really bad, Sam closes his eyes behind the blindfold and pretends. Sometimes he can almost convince himself that this is all some sick nightmare, and he’ll wake up to Baby’s rumbling engine and his head on Dean’s shoulder.</p><p class="p1">He never fully believes it, though.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sam is drifting in a weird, painful haze, dimly wondering how long it’s been since he ate, when there’s a loud commotion from outside. Sounds of a struggle. There’s a gunshot. Someone starts trying to break the door in until it gives with a bang and a loud sound of breaking wood, and Sam struggles to curl in on himself, aware of the possibility that this is another threat rather than the promise of salvation.</p><p class="p1">Then a panicked voice calls, “Sammy?”</p><p class="p1">Sam very nearly starts weeping. Quick footsteps approach him, and there’s a jingle of keys. The handcuffs keeping Sam attached to the radiator with both hands—one on each end of the radiator, so that he’s almost spread-eagled and the radiator is a constant, unforgiving heat on his back—are unlocked and pulled away. Sam’s arms drop. They ache.</p><p class="p1">Hands come up and remove his blindfold, and Sam comes face to face with Dean, his face pinched in anger and concern.</p><p class="p1">Sam wilts. He crashes against Dean’s chest, his face falling limply against Dean’s neck.</p><p class="p1">“God, kid, the hell did they do to you?” Dean mutters, automatically holding Sam tight. He’s shaking, or maybe that’s Sam; he can’t really tell.</p><p class="p1">Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat, a kind of guttural moan. He shifts, weakly lifting his head to check the doorway.</p><p class="p1">“They’re all knocked out,” Dean promises. “It’s just you and me, I swear.”</p><p class="p1">That’s good enough for Sam. He lets his head drop back to Dean’s shoulder, content to revel in his brother’s presence for a moment.</p><p class="p1">Dean’s hand sweeps over the back of Sam’s neck, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I gotcha, kid.”</p><p class="p1">Sam makes another noise in his throat.</p><p class="p1">Dean tugs him closer for a moment, and then pulls back, cradling Sam’s face in his hands. “What do you say we get outta here, huh?”</p><p class="p1">Sam nods. He’s never heard a better idea in his life.</p><p class="p1">Dean gets to his feet first, and then helps Sam up. Sam’s hit with a wave of dizziness that makes his knees go weak; he sways and would have gone down if Dean didn’t catch him just in time.</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” Dean mutters. “Alright, I gotcha. C’mon, we’ll go slow.”</p><p class="p1">And slow is right. Sam’s whole body hurts, though most of it is centered in his mouth and his arms and his pelvis, and he’s weak from starvation and dehydration. The hunters gave him water every couple of days, but never more than what they needed to keep him alive.</p><p class="p1">Sam wonders how much blood he’s lost, between the hunters purposely bleeding him, what they did to his mouth, the damage they did…down there.</p><p class="p1">But it’s okay. Dean’s here to fix it.</p><p class="p1">Sam nearly falls from sheer relief when they reach the Impala. He’s never been so glad to see the car in his life, and he sinks gratefully into the passenger seat.</p><p class="p1">Dean jogs around the front. His eyes are immediately back on Sam as he slides into the driver’s seat, and Sam can feel the worry radiating off of him in waves.</p><p class="p1">Sam just shifts toward the middle of the bench seat, slowly, and drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder.</p><p class="p1">Dean starts the car. He doesn’t react to Sam other than leaning his head against Sam’s.</p><p class="p1">They drive in silence for a moment. When Dean comes to a stop at a red light, he pulls away from Sam to crane his neck and look down at him.</p><p class="p1">“How are you holding up?” Dean pauses. “If you don’t answer me, I’m dragging your ass to a hospital. I should probably drag you there as it is, but this whole…silence thing? You’re worrying me, man.”</p><p class="p1">Sam doesn’t answer. He can’t.</p><p class="p1">“Sam?” Dean prompts. “C’mon, kid, just tell me how you are.”</p><p class="p1">Sam pulls away, weakly sitting back against the seat. He looks at Dean and bites his lip, and then begins struggling to speak. The noises he makes are garbled, throaty; they’re as far from normal speech as Sam could possibly get.</p><p class="p1">Dean’s eyes widen in alarm. He veers the Impala onto the side of the road and slams into park, then turns to Sam, immediately reaching for his throat, feeling along his jaw.</p><p class="p1">Sam doesn’t fight it. He’s too tired to put up a front, and he’d be lying if he said Dean’s concern, his care, isn’t deeply soothing.</p><p class="p1">Dean rests his thumb against Sam’s lips. Sam willingly lets his mouth fall open, intently watching Dean’s reaction.</p><p class="p1">Dean recoils. His hands fly off of Sam like he’s been burned, and he gapes at Sam’s slack-jawed mouth in horror.</p><p class="p1">“Sam,” he breathes. “Your…your tongue. Where is it?”</p><p class="p1">Sam blinks at him. He swallows—it takes a lot of effort, now—and mimes holding a knife and slicing, even though his hands tremble.</p><p class="p1">Dean’s face drains of color. “Fuck,” he breathes. “<em>Fuck</em>. Okay, alright, uh…let’s go to the hospital, yeah?”</p><p class="p1">Sam shakes his head.</p><p class="p1">“You can’t be serious,” Dean says, tugging at his hair. “Sam, this is…we really need help here, man. You’re a mess. Let’s just go to the hospital.”</p><p class="p1">Sam shakes his head again, more vehement this time, and ignores the immediate vertigo from it. He still remembers with crystal clarity the last time they were in the hospital. They lost Dad. Sam nearly lost <em>Dean</em>. He’s always hated hospitals, but he hates them even more now. He’ll be damned if he goes back to one.</p><p class="p1">“I’m begging you, Sammy,” Dean tries. “This is outta my depth. I don’t…I don’t know what to do to help you.”</p><p class="p1">Sam doesn’t change his mind. He shakes his head one more time, hating how easily his eyes are filling with tears while he’s like this.</p><p class="p1">Dean just looks at him for a long moment, and then he sighs, and Sam knows he’s given in. “Alright, well…we aren’t far from Bobby’s. At least let me take you there.”</p><p class="p1">Sam doesn’t know that he really wants Bobby to see him like this, but he knows he’ll be a lot more at ease in the junkyard than he will be in a series of motel rooms. He nods, and Dean’s face relaxes in relief.</p><p class="p1">“Alright. We’re a couple hours out from Sioux Falls. You gonna be okay for that long?”</p><p class="p1">Sam gives a shaky thumbs up. He drops his head back onto Dean’s shoulder, tucking his face against his brother’s neck, and thinks that when he’s more coherent, this one-sided silence of theirs is going to take a long time to get used to.</p><p class="p1">For now, though, the rumble of Baby’s engine and Dean’s solid, warm presence under Sam’s skin, against his side, is more than enough.</p>
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